A sheriff’s deputy was fatally injured and another was hurt when their patrol car, traveling at high speed to a home burglary in progress, went out of control and slammed into a tree on June 16.

James P. Clark, 29, of Los Angeles – a seven-year veteran of the force – died at Daniel Freeman Memorial Hospital about 2:00 a.m. His partner, James F. Marr, 24, also of Los Angeles, suffered a dislocated shoulder. The accident occurred shortly before midnight in the Windsor Hills Area as the deputies rushed to a home where a woman reported hearing someone trying to enter the house.

As the patrol car raced down Mullen Avenue, officers said, it veered out of control on a curve and hit a large tree.

Clark, who was driving, is survived by his wife, Patricia, who is expecting their second child in January. The couple have a 3-year-old daughter De Anna.

Department officials said Clark had a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice from California State University, Los Angeles.

His first assignment in the law enforcement field was in May 1976 with the Culver City Police Department as a Community Service Officer.

On July 29, 1977, he joined the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. As a member of the department, he served in several capacities including Custody Division and Special Investigation Bureau. In April of 1981, James transferred to the Patrol Division West Lennox Station.

Funeral services were held at the Mt. Moriah Baptist Church with interment at Inglewood Memorial Park.

Officer Paul Verna, 35, a Medal of Valor winner gunned down during a routine traffic stop, was laid to rest in a service attended by more than 3,500 fellow officers.

An additional 2,000 civilians attended the June 8 burial of the murdered motorcycle officer at Oakwood Memorial Park, just a few miles from the neighborhood where Verna was raised and the corner where he was killed.

About 300 police motorcycles and 1,500 black-and-white patrol cards comprised a motorcade viewed by hundreds of citizens who lined the route.

“Paul was a street policeman,” Police Chaplain Jerry Powell said in his eulogy. “He loved the streets, he loved the work, and that is where he wanted to be.

“Paul was rich in love and humanity . . . a caring family person.”

Powell also recalled the incident in December 1981 when Verna crawled into a burning home in an attempt to save two mentally retarded children, an act of heroism that won him the department’s Medal of Valor.

“Paul, at that time, didn’t see himself as a hero,” Powell said. “He saw his job, and he just did it. He felt uncomfortable receiving the medal of Valor . . .he didn’t like the publicity.”

Officers from 51 different agencies from California, Arizona, Nevada and even Mexico accompanied Verna’s casket on the slow trek to the cemetery where they were joined by Mayor Tom Bradley, Sheriff Sherman Block and several members of the City Council. Police Chief Daryl Gates, in Europe on business, was represented by Assistant Chief Barry Wade.

Verna’s wife, Sandra, 33, sat with the couple’s two sons, Bryce, 9, and Ryan, 4, and the officer’s parents and sister, occasionally giving her children comforting hugs.

The two boys were both dressed in their Little League baseball uniforms, honoring their father’s love of sports. The older boy cradled the slain officer’s helmet while the younger held the flag that had draped his coffin.

Following the eulogy, a police bagpiper played “Amazing Grace.” Three shots were fired into the air and a bugler closed the ceremony with “Taps.”

Verna, whose record of service also included the city Fire Department and the Air Force, was the 150th officer killed in the line of duty in the nation’s third largest city.

His accused killer, Kenneth Gay, pleaded innocent to charges, including murder and conspiracy to obstruct justice, that could bring a death penalty. Gay’s wife and three other suspects also pleaded innocent to charges in the case, some involving a string of robberies.

Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department Sergeant Larrell Smith was assigned to the Special Enforcement Bureau (Special Weapons And Tactics Team) at the time of his murder. Sergeant Smith and four fellow SEB deputies tried to serve a search warrant for illegal narcotics with no response from the occupants at the location. Entry was being made through a front window when a shot rang out, felling Sergeant Smith. Deputies returned fire, killing the suspect. Miraculously, the suspect’s four children who were in the residence were not injured. Sergeant Smith was treated at the scene by paramedics and then rushed to the hospital. He was taken off life support and died two days later.

Memorial services for Deputy Lawrence M. Lavieri were held March 24 at the First Presbyterian Church in San Pedro.

Lavieri, a Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy was shot to death and a second deputy was seriously wounded by a man later disarmed by an outraged mob who came to the officers’ aid.

Deputy Lawrence “Mike” Lavieri, 38, died at Harbor-UCLA Medical Center March 19. A 16-year department veteran, he had been shot in the head.

Authorities booked Lionel Henry of Los Angeles, 35, for investigation of murder and attempted murder following the attack at a Carson gasoline station and a nearby residence.

Mason Kenny, a department spokesman, said Lavieri arrived about 10:30 a.m. to investigate a report of a suspicious person loitering at a gas station in the Los Angeles suburb.

The officers allegedly found Henry inside an automobile that had been reported stolen in San Diego. An argument ensued when he refused to step out.

A single shot was fired, and one deputy fell to the ground, Kenny said.

The man fled on foot with the second deputy in pursuit, then entered a residence about a block away from the gas station.

Following an exchange of gunfire inside the residence, during which the second deputy was wounded, the “suspect came out holding a gun,” Kenny said, and a crowd outside the house began yelling, “Drop the gun. Drop the gun.”

The suspect dropped the weapon and the crowd “jumped the suspect,” restraining him until backup units arrived, Kenny said.

Alameda policeman Robert J. Davey Jr., the first officer slain in that city’s history, was buried after a full-dress funeral attended by more than 500 fellow officers.

As an overflow crowd listened inside St. Joseph Basilica Catholic Church and about 200 more heard the words through a loudspeaker outside, a grief-stricken officer eulogized Davey, 35, as a gentle, kind father of four children.

“His wife, Sue, will remember that his final words to her ‘I love you’ when he called to tell her he would be late on that fateful night,” Alameda Police Sergeant Charles Mannix said, his voice breaking occasionally as he praised his friend.

Mannix said that Davey, a 10-year veteran of the 92-member force who worked in its juvenile division, agreed to go along on a drug raid as he got off his usual shift. Davey was shot by a suspect who tried to flee the scene.

“He didn’t have to be there,” Mannix said. “He wanted to be there because he was a cop.” One of Davey’s aims was to help “preserve order in a disordered world.”

Hundreds of officers from more than two dozen agencies – most from the Bay Area, but some from as far away as Sacramento and Monterey – attended the service. In their dress blues, they stood at attention in front of several Victorian homes across the street from the white-walled stucco church.

When the funeral limousine drove up slowly to the church, the officers saluted with white-gloved hands. The service began shortly after Davey’s wife, visibly crumbled with emotion, stepped from the limousine and leaned heavily on the arms of friends who helped her up the steps on the church.

Behind her came her four children – 3-year-old Joseph, 5-year-old Kelli, 8-year-old Robert and 10-year-old Krista – with the smallest ones being carried by other family members.

Davey grew up in Torrance and worked as a Navy mechanic before joining the police. He had been attending Golden Gate University to obtain a bachelor’s degree at the time of his death.

Monsignor Alvin Wagner also spoke, saying Davey’s death was felt with particular intensity within the largely residential community of Alameda. “This is an island community where our friendships are closer and our desire to share sorrow is more heartfelt,” he said.

Alameda officers confirmed later that Davey’s killing had numbed members of the 109-year police force. Former Police Chief Richard Young said an Alameda motorcycle officer died in a crash about 30 years ago, but that there was no record of any other officer being slain while on duty.

As Sergeant George Gardiner stood outside the church listening to the Mass, he said: “We’re just overwhelmed here. I don’t know how many times I’ve been to these funerals, seen them on television, but all of a sudden, when it’s a guy who worked right around the corner . . . ”

The man charged with Davey’s killing was Daniel A. Smith, 21, of Santa Cruz. Police said Smith was on parole from the California Youth Authority after serving seven months for a first-degree burglary.

Officer Stuart Taira died in a helicopter crash on Tuesday, March 1, 1983. He was a member of the Los Angeles Police Department’s Air Support Division.

Officer Kirk Leland Johnson was in his police car at 1:30 a.m. on February 20 in a deserted park in San Diego when he was shot five times in the head and chest.

It is often said that every man, regardless of his past, becomes a saint at his funeral. In death, he is infused with qualities of patience, reverence, generosity and faith out of all proportion to his living record. No cause exists to embellish what he was. He was a good man, a good cop, a good Christian.

Kirk L. Johnson laughed with his buddies, loved his wife, and prayed with his friends.

Born and raised in Illinois, he graduated from high school there in 1975. Nothing remarkable, except that he was “always pushing,” trying for something better, trying to improve himself. Johnson enlisted in the Army in 1975, and spent almost two years stationed in Hawaii, eventually rising to the rank of sergeant in the Infantry. Nothing remarkable, except that he kept pushing. More schools, more training. More varied experiences, more involvement. He received an associate degree from the University of Maryland. Nothing remarkable; he just kept pushing for more.

In an age and time when it was the ethos of the young to be “lost,” to “search for yourself,” to “try to find out where your head is,” he needed not search for a self he already knew. He was a good friend, a good soldier, a reliable sergeant. Nothing remarkable; not a hot shot; nobody’s “golden boy,” he just kept pushing for something better, something more.

Johnson was honorably discharged from the Army, and hired by the San Diego Police Department in January 1980. Background investigators and interviewers were favorably impressed, commenting on his maturity for his age, his openness and honesty. They noted that many of his personal references were members of his church, fellow members of a prayer group he attended. They noted nothing very remarkable, just a very open, honest young man, deeply religious, who told them he had enjoyed serving his country and looked forward to serving his community.

Johnson graduated third out of 40 San Diego officers in his Academy class, with a 94.5-A-average. Within arm’s reach of the honor graduate title, he kept pushing right up to the last day of class.

In his service as a patrol officer, his sergeants consistently noted that he was “aggressive . . . always above average in work activity. . . volunteered for radio calls up to the last minute of his shift . . . never stopped looking for activity . . . continued increasing the level of quality of his work . . .” He kept pushing, every day.

Johnson pushed every minute throughout he shift, ran with his friends after work, laughed in the locker room, and went home to his wife. He was active in his church, and tried to share his beliefs through his actions rather than by his words. He was proud of a Commanding Officer’s Citation for an outstanding arrest, and kept pushing harder.

Had Kirk Johnson pushed less, not been so much of a volunteer, a little less inquisitive, he might be alive today. Had he been the sort to let suspicious circumstances go unchecked, or not followed through on his hunches with such determination, he might still be among us. But it wouldn’t have been Kirk. It is to his credit, and his honor, and to the honor of our department, that he never let up, never stopped pushing.

We need no superlatives, no flowery figures of speech to do honor to Kirk Johnson.

He was a good man.
He was a good cop.
We shall miss him.

More than 500 police officers came to pay tribute Jan. 14 to a slain comrade, Santa Cruz County sheriff’s deputy Michael Gray, 40. Gray died Jan. 13 without regaining consciousness after being shot Jan. 3 by a mentally deranged loner who lived off the land in the Santa Cruz mountains.

“I’ve lived here since 1945, and I’m quite sure this is the largest gathering I’ve ever seen here,” said Neil Monahan, 67-year-old retired Oakland firefighter.

“The turnout’s fantastic. What else can you say?” said a Santa Cruz sheriff’s captain.

St. John’s Catholic Church, where a Mass of Christian Burial was said for Gray, is just a hundred yards from where the seven-year police veteran was critically wounded, and only two blocks from his home.

The unpretentious white church was filled with 600 people. About 250 – including 120 officers – stood silently outside listening to the service over a loudspeaker. Even the air was still, and chimney smoke drifted up through the trees on the hillside.

Gray’s oak coffin, draped with the American flag, lay before a flower-filled altar. Beside the wreaths was a display of “get well” notes written by children of DeLaveaga Elementary School, a reminder of Gray’s 10-day struggle to live after he was shot.

After the funeral procession left for Felton Cemetery, the assembled officers stood silently for 10 minutes as the local fire siren wailed.

Later, the hundreds of police vehicles drove off in a giant motorcade with emergency lights flashing.

Said Santa Cruz sheriff’s Lt. Don Lovejoy, “When an officer is shot for totally senseless reasons, there’s bound to be an outpouring of feeling.”

“He was a good cop and was well-liked by the community that he lived in,” said a somber Sheriff Al Noren, who declared a two-week mourning period and ordered all the county’s flags to be flown at half-staff.

Gray, an Army veteran, joined the Sheriff’s Department in 1975. He was honored for his rescue efforts during the mudslides in the Love Creek area in 1983.

He was survived by his wife, Deanna, and his 6-year-old son, Bobby.

Highway Patrol officer Jeff Lee, 24, who was shot when he came to Gray’s aid, was treated and released from the hospital. The man accused of the attacks, a 44-year-old recluse named Leslie Grover Wyman, killed himself in the woods after the shootings.

More than 1000 law enforcement officers joined hundreds of other mourners Jan. 21 in tribute to slain Oakland police officer Ramon Irizarry, “a superb undercover officer and an excellent investigator.”

Neighbors of Allen Temple Baptist Church in East Oakland peered from porches and windows as an army of uniformed men and women from police, sheriff and fire departments throughout the state lined the streets leading to the church and filed in for the services.

In a poignant eulogy, Oakland police Lieutenant Mike Wilson noted that the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was observed during the time that the 25-year-old officer was hospitalized in a coma.

Wilson suggested that just as King died for a dream that was never realized in his lifetime, “Ramon too had a dream that motivated him.” That dream, Wilson said, “Was to improve society and to make a direct contribution . . . to fighting crime.

“Ramon laid down his life for the community he loved,” Wilson said. “Don’t ever think that his death was in vain.”

Dr. J. Alfred Smith, pastor of Allen Temple, urged the mourners to offer the police “our support, our love and our smiles,” and to encourage inner-city youth to avoid criminal activity, which led to the young officer’s death.

Irizarry, who lived in Pittsburg, was survived by his wife, Breanda; a 2-year-old son, Michael Ramon; his parents, Ramon and Jenetha Irizarry of New York City, and a sister and two brothers, also living in New York.

His body was flown to New York for burial.

Irizarry was shot in the head at close range on Jan. 11 as he and several other officers served a search warrant on the occupants of a house in West Oakland suspected of being the center of drug trafficking and fencing of stolen goods.

Doctors said Irizarry had been clinically dead – kept alive on life support machines – since the shooting. His attending physicians concluded that he had no chance for recovery.

While the funeral was in progress, the man suspected of killing Irizarry, Bobbie Joe Buckley, 41, appeared in Oakland-Piedmont Municipal Court to be arraigned on a charge of murder with special circumstances.

Buckley was wounded in the face when three officers fired at him as he fled from the shooting scene.

Detective Dave Miller, 30, was leaving a north area business with his brother-in-law when his brother-in-law became involved in an altercation with two men in the parking lot. The two men jumped into their car, and as they were leaving the lot, they swerved and struck Miller’s brother-in-law.

Detective Miller, who observed the incident, jumped into his truck and pursued what he believed to be fleeing felons. As he gained on the suspect vehicle, he attempted to slowly force their vehicle to the side of the road. As he did so, his pickup hit the rear of the suspect vehicle and his pickup veered from the roadway and hit a power pole.

Detective Miller was killed instantly in the crash. The sad irony of this incident is that subsequent investigation determined that Miller’s brother-in-law was struck accidentally causing minor injuries. However, Detective Dave Miller was performing in his capacity as a peace officer in his belief that a deliberate act of violence had occurred, initiating the pursuit which lead to his death.

Detective David Miller is buried at Mount Vernon Memorial Park on Greenback Lane.